


earth-bound lovers

by LamiaCalls



Category: Original Work
Genre: (kind of), Desk Sex, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Sex Magic, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/pseuds/LamiaCalls
Summary: He must consummate his lust every third full moon or his curse will take hold. She's the only one he trusts.She wants to ensure she's the one who kills him, not the curse. At least, that's what she tells herself.
Relationships: Sorceress Sister/Sorcerer Brother
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40
Collections: RelationShipping 2020





	earth-bound lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [straightforwardly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta! All remaining mistakes due to my last-minute futzing!

Leah was reading, standing at her table. The book was not one of particular interest, plucked from the shelf above her venus orchids. It was so dusty, vines had begun to grow around it, and she had had to shoo them with a touch of magic before she could pull it down. Though, the vines had grown so much, so close to spring it was and therefore her magic increasing, that her room had begun to smell more green than any garden, that it was any wonder she wasn’t half-wrapped in them too.

The book was just a distraction. To stop her from waiting. The hour drew close, she knew, or, at least, her slippered foot that wouldn’t cease its tapping on the stone floor seemed to know. Still, it was good to have something to concentrate on, even if it were a particularly dry tome on the magic hierarchies of the eastern lands.

Samson burst through her door with so much of his usual bravado, at his usual time, that Leah didn’t look up from the book at the sound. It was relief, that he had arrived, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

He made a fuss of coming down the stairs to where she stood at the huge wood table, littered with vials of various crushed plants and pollens, that eventually, she had to look just to glare at him. He was in his usual affair of dark robes, as if he were some brooding gentleman, rather than a criminal wretch.

“Ah, there is my ineffable sister,” he said, mockingly bright. “How I’ve missed your sunny smile!”

“I could kill you, you know,” she said simply.

“And I’m sure your Queen would thank you for it, too,” he said, a genuine grin appearing. He liked too much the game they played. “Somehow I don’t think you will.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said.

He walked towards her, each step easy and without fear.

“Did you miss me?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not at all.”

When he had come close enough, she reached out and ran a finger against his jaw, catching the still-wet blood there. She put her finger to her lips, tasted the coppery blood, let it linger on her tongue before she swallowed.

“Whose blood is it this time?” she said. “I hope you left them alive at least.”

“Why do you assume that isn’t mine?”

“I can _taste_ that it isn’t yours, Samson,” she sighed.

He stepped closer, a smile on his lips, even as she turned back to leaning over her book.

“You know what my blood tastes like?”

“I know everything,” she said. She flicked her eyes back up to him. “About you, at least.”

For once, he didn’t say anything further on the matter. She was impressed at his unusual restraint.

Instead, he said, “No, anyway. You know I’m not much one for killing.”

“Just for dredging up body parts for your little spells, how could I forget?”

He sniffed. “I don’t know, dear Leah, given how much trouble you give me for it.”

“It’s against the law.” She turned the page, though she was long past actually reading and she knew her act would not hold any water with him. It didn’t matter. Showing reluctance, however false, was so important to the whole affair.

“Always the goody two-shoes,” he sighed. He lay a hand on the table, dangerously close to hers.

“Always the rebel,” she said, the well-practiced volley. “What are you doing here, Samson?”

He snorted.

“What am I doing here? Well, if you didn’t have your nose buried in the books as usual, letting the world pass you by, you may have noticed it was the third full moon since I last came.”

“Oh,” she said. “ _That_.” Even she could tell how fake it sounded. But that wasn’t the point either.

“Yes,” he replied. “ _That_.”

 _That_ , of course, was the curse one of his old clients had put on him, that meant he needed to spill his seed every third full moon, or slowly perish, power being drawn away from him on each passing day that he didn’t consummate. It was a simple magical spell that would stop him expiring, but it required sex to work, thanks to the client having hired a brothel-owning witch to work the curse.

“Well, get on with it then, I suppose,” she said. She batted a hand at him, not daring to look up now. She knew how he would be looking at her, and she didn’t need her want to be written too baldly on her face. “Sooner you start, sooner it’s over.”

When he didn’t move, she broke her act to look up at him, frowning. He was watching her, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Might it be better if I find another woman? Since you seem so, ah, _reluctant_.”

She wasn’t quick enough to hide the shock on her face, and hated watching his grin grow bigger, teeth peeking out from behind his lips. Her nostrils flared.

“I thought you couldn’t trust anyone else,” she said.

“Hm, well, you may have heard,” he said, almost idly. “I have friends in high places these days.”

She thought bitterly of the local lord who had given him patronage and support. She thought even more bitterly of her Queen’s reaction when she had heard.

“And he keeps quite the harem of trustworthy women,” he said, smile broadening, eyes glittering in delight as he watched her struggle to keep the indignation off her face.

She didn’t like this game. Not at all. This wasn’t in the rules. But that was just like him, to go off-script.

“I hear the gossip mill is astounding amongst prostitutes,” she spat. “Once one is aware of your _affliction_ , every whore from here to Zabanthy will know your weakness. They might even whisper it into the ears of their lords and ladies. Maybe, perhaps, even the Queen herself has concubines who will come to hear of it, and instead of ordering you killed, she’ll just capture you the night before the third moon and watch you perish in a jail cell. What of that?”

His grin didn’t fade. Instead, he moved his hand to slap and, at the same time, cup her buttocks forcefully. She let out an involuntary sound, hands going out steady herself upon the table. His hand was warm and she had missed the feeling of him next to her.

“Ah so that’s it, is it? You want to protect me, that’s all,” he said, his voice low now. His eyes were dark. He moved round, until he was standing behind her, and whispered in her ear: “Nothing to do with wanting your brother’s cock inside of you.”

She closed her eyes, feeling how wet those words made her.

“You’d think our mother raised you better than for such vulgarity,” she said, but her voice was hoarse and gave away her lust. She wanted to hide that, didn’t want him to know how much his filthy tongue affected her. She was not like him, after all, didn’t want to muck around in dirt and waste. She was proper and raised right.

“And I thought,” he said, one hand hiking up her dress so he could slip a hand inside. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, had known the day all along, and she enjoyed the growl it produced when his fingers met no resistance, just her wetness. When he spoke again, his voice was thick: “I thought she raised you better than to let your brother fuck you.”

He pressed close, and she could feel that he was hard against her buttocks, and she ached for him to be inside her. His fingers were not enough, slipping in her slickness as they were, though she let out an involuntary gasp as he grazed her clitoris.

“It was a close one, in Braxta,” he said. Through her lust-fogged mind, she thought of Braxta’s town, of the beautiful spired temple that had shaded them even in the high summer sun. Of the pile of bones, freshly dug, that had led her to him. Of him, teleporting at the last second when she sent her poison spell hurtling towards him, which would have surely killed him. “I thought you had me for sure.” He pressed into her, his fingers swirling in her wetness, fucking her gently. She tightened her grip on the table, tried to think past the spikes of hot pleasure arching down her legs.

“I’ll get you next time,” she managed.

“And yet, it would be so simple to let me die, if you just stopped this,” he growled into her ear.

“I will not let the curse take you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “ _I_ want to be the one to kill you.”

“Is that right?” he said. “Funny how close you get without actually finishing me off, isn’t it? Haven’t so much as injured me yet.”

She hissed as he disappeared from her cunt, his hands busy hiking her dress up. Now free of his tormenting fingers, she thought of the tell-tale crackle and scent of death that came before his teleportation magic, the three seconds she always counted to before sending off her killing spell.

“Shall I be cruel and make you beg for it?” he said. “It’s the least I could do for all the shit you put me through.”

He pressed the head of his cock against her and teased her with it. She bit down.

“I swear to the gods, Samson,” she hissed.

He laughed, pulled away. “Oh, what will you do?”

“I’ll never forgive you,” she managed.

He laughed again. “Now, wait. Does that mean if I fuck you now, you _will_ forgive—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said, ignoring his utterance about her language. Without looking, she reached behind her, grabbed his warm, hard cock (oh, it felt so good between her fingers), and lined him up, pushing back onto it. The sweet choke he made as the head entered was almost enough to distract her from her own pleasure, but she pressed on, or down, until he was all the way inside her and let out a sigh.

It felt good for him to be home once more. She loathed how much she had missed him.

“Fine, you impatient wench,” he said, though his breathing was still uneven.

He took a hold of her hips, and began to fuck her. She flattened herself on the table, not even minding as her hips knocked against the wood with each stroke. He made his usual little throaty sounds, as he stroked in and out of her.

Then he buckled forward, stopping suddenly though she knew he hadn’t come, and one of his hands landed atop hers. Out of instinct, she wrapped her pinky around his thumb, enjoyed his own instinctual rubbing of her finger. His hands were so much larger than hers, and covered with the callouses of grave digging. Hers were soft from careful book reading, stained green from the plants she tended. Her clean fingernails were stark against his, dirt and blood still caked beneath them. He twined his fingers with hers, held on.

“What are you doing?” she said, quietly, reluctant to break the silence.

“Wait,” he whispered back. When she half-rose, he kissed at the back of her neck, brushing her hair aside with his free hand. His lips were chapped and dry against her sensitive skin, and she arched back into him.

“For what?” she said.

“I don’t want to rush things,” he said.

She tutted. This was always the way: he was impatient in life, patient only in the bedroom. It was just their lot that she had gone the other way entirely.

She took matters into her own hands. Using her free hand to grab a hold of the edge of the table for better leverage, she began to ride him. It took her a few strokes to work out a good angle, in which time he started some sarky response, but it got lodged in his throat when she found her rhythm.

No one else fit inside her like he did, felt like he did, made her want to fuck herself endlessly upon him like he did. She didn’t even bother trying anymore, to fill the void he left, and she knew he didn’t either, for all his talk. Wouldn’t. How could anyone rival the closeness of him, behind her, one hand holding hers tightly, the other moving back to her hip, muttering her name like it were a spell he was struggling to cast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, leaning back. She looked back at him, almost laughed at the rapturous way he was watching her move on and off his cock. When he looked up at her, his eyes were intense, glittering. He said, “I love you.”

She hid behind a roll of her eyes, but she knew how transparent she was. There was no hiding from him, or the sound that escaped her throat on the next stroke. She sped up, wanting to show him how much she felt the same back, not with words — no, those were his hobby — but with action, pressing herself tighter around him.

“Leah,” he said. “Fuck.”

He pitched forward, and began to fuck back into her, matching her rhythm at first before his thrusts became short and erratic and she knew that—

He came inside her, warm and with a groan into the back of her neck that she felt through her whole body.

Only their heavy breathing filled the room, one arm wrapped tightly around her, almost too tight for comfort; his head in the crook of her neck, where it belonged. His hair stuck to her sweaty skin, the smell of their sex obvious, but so too could she smell the dark musk of him, the slight tang of blood from the magic that coursed through his veins, so different from the fresh-cut green of hers.

“Well,” he said after a while, his breath still ragged. “I may have forgotten to cast, how about you?”

She grimaced to stop herself from smirking.

“Hm, that’s what I thought,” he said slowly, lifting his head. “I guess we’ll have to try again. Though might I request somewhere more comfortable? Your bed perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” she said, with mock exasperation. “I suppose we can, as long as we don’t make a habit of it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, placing a kiss on her sweat-slicked neck.

She breathed a sigh as he left her, and she pulled her dress down, before grabbing at his hand.

“Come on then, let’s not tarry,” she said.

She led him upstairs, to her bedroom, already ready to have him again, and again, and perhaps another time, if she were lucky, before morning.


End file.
